


The Eros of the Pork Cutlet Bowl

by spare



Series: Life, Love, & Lots of Yummy Food [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drama in ch.6, Flirting, Fluff, Food, Gen, M/M, Makkachin - Freeform, Mention of Yurio's birthday, Mild Humor, Romance, Sexual Tension, VictUuri, Victuri, Vignettes, Yurio's potty mouth, katsudon, katsudon pirozhki, lovewins, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9456689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spare/pseuds/spare
Summary: ... Or the one where Victor Nikiforov, living legend of the figure skating world, discovers an unexpected kink: watching Yuuri eat katsudon.A series of vignettes centered around Yuuri eating katsudon with Victor. Love wins.Bonus chapter added! Set post-canon, featuring Yurio. *dances away*





	1. Prelude (to Victuuri)

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came to me after rewatching YoI for the nth time, and then realizing that we never do get to see Yuuri eat katsudon (except for the pirozhki) during the entire season. That led me to think up the following scenarios.<3  
>  **Disclaimer:** We have Mitsurou Kubo, Sayo Yamamoto, Kenji Miyamoto, and Studio MAPPA to thank for the masterpiece that is _Yuri!!! on Ice_. The story below is a free fanwork published solely for entertainment.

“Yuuri, what about you?” Victor asks, turning towards the man. “What would you like if you win?”

With an indrawn breath, Yuuri Katsuki quietly replies, “I want to eat pork cutlet bowls with you, Victor.”

Victor is stunned. Yurio, too, if the teenager's gaping mouth is any indication. (Because seriously, that's all that Yuuri wants as a prize? Something Victor would grant if Yuuri'd just ask, diets be damned? Surely Yuuri doesn't think him so heartless—)

But Yuuri has more to say, it seems. “I want to keep on winning,” he goes on, voice rising, “and keep on eating pork cutlet bowls!” Fiery conviction lights his eyes. “So I'll skate to Eros! I'll give it all the Eros I've got!”

And Victor, charmed and touched beyond belief, finds himself smiling. “Great!” he exclaims. “That's exactly what I want to hear!”

 _Truly,_ Victor thinks, _he never ceases to surprise me._

It's a sentiment Victor would echo in less than a week, a low, appreciative whistle escaping his lips.

A super-tasty pork cutlet bowl, indeed.


	2. First Bowl: After Onsen on Ice

“Here you go, Vicchan, Yuuri,” Hiroko Katsuki says, setting the trays laden with her son's favorite meal on their respective sides of the table. “Enjoy.”

At their thanks, she gives them a beaming smile, right before heading off to attend to the inn's other guests. It's rather obvious who Yuuri takes after.

And then it is just the two of them in the room, with two trays of Yu-topia's house special, the extra-large katsudon set, between them: rice topped with breaded pork cutlet, egg, and onions mildly stewed in a clear broth with peas as garnish; for accompaniment, a bowl of miso soup, as well as a roll of pickled napa cabbage dusted thickly with dried bonito flakes.

“Well, then,” Yuuri claps his hands together, not quite looking at Victor just yet, “Itadakimasu.”

Victor gamely follows suit. “Itadakimasu.” He's pretty sure he's mispronounced the expression somehow, but Yuuri still smiles at him from across the table, brown eyes bright behind blue-framed glasses, a faint blush staining the younger man's cheeks. Victor's heart does that fluttery thing again in his chest. It tended to do that of late, usually near a smiling, happy Yuuri.

Steam is wafting from the food on their trays, bringing the enticing scent of breaded pork, onions, and freshly cooked rice to his nostrils. Victor savors it, savors the moment; savors watching Yuuri breaking his chopsticks with practiced ease and digging in.

A piece of pork cutlet finds its way to Yuuri's lips. He parts his mouth—a flash of tongue and teeth—and that is it: he's taken his first bite of Yu-topia's extra-large katsudon in weeks. Yuuri's eyes fall shut as he begins to chew slowly. He swallows, of course, eventually; Victor finds himself swallowing with him. The sight of the younger man's Adam's apple bobbing is enough, apparently, to make his own mouth go dry.

Or maybe not. Maybe it's in the glaze of egg and sauce on Yuuri's upper lip; maybe that's what does the trick. Or maybe it's in the soft, contented sound Yuuri makes as he gulps down the bit of meat.

Maybe Victor is turning into an idiot.

(Who is he kidding? He already _is_ an idiot.)

“Delicious,” Yuuri is now exclaiming, regarding the rest of the cutlet with heavy-lidded eyes and a lover's longing. The longing of a meat lover long restricted to a rice-and-vegetable diet, that is. He cradles his bowl in one hand and lifts it closer to his mouth, proceeding to eat the rest of its tasty contents in earnest.

“You really do love katsudon, don't you, Yuuri?” Victor observes after a beat. “Even more than me.”

Yuuri looks up, looking embarrassed. There's a couple of rice grains stuck on his chin. “W-well, um—” Yuuri clears his throat, smile bashful, “I guess that that's pretty obvious...? I mean, I grew up eating it...” His gaze falls on Victor's untouched food tray. “You're not hungry?”

Victor briefly considers his options. He could evade the question, go the playful route; smirk and wink at Yuuri and say, _'Don't tell me you want to eat my share, too.'_ Or he could be truthful, and risk creeping his protégé out with the _'I was too busy watching you eat'_ excuse.

In the end, he settles on something in between. “You did tell me to watch you, remember?” Victor reminds him gently, teasingly. Yuuri had hugged him right after saying it, Victor recalls. Had lunged forward—sober and of his own accord—and looped his arms around him. With the skates on Yuuri stood just as tall as he, more or less, and the younger man had been able to rest his chin against Victor's shoulder. “So I was. Watching you, I mean.”

Yuuri's face flames. Perhaps he's remembering their hug, too. “Th-th-that was for the short program! The show!”

“Was it?” Victor inquires, feigning confusion. “Really, Yuuri, you should have been more clear about it...”

“Well,” Yuuri says, “I'm being clear about it now, I hope.”

Victor nods cheerfully. “Crystal.” He picks up his pair of chopsticks, snaps them apart, and attends to his meal at last.

 


	3. Second Bowl: After the Block Championships

“Itadakimasu,” Yuuri says.

“Itadakimasu.” The word now rolls easier off Victor's tongue; not quite fluent, not by a long shot, but getting there. Victor couldn't help but preen a little as he unclaps his hands and reaches for his chopsticks.

Yuuri seems to think so, too. “Your Japanese has really improved,” the younger man remarks after they've both dug in, shoulders at ease; only to stiffen an instant later once he realizes how that might come off. “I'm sorry,” Yuuri sputters, “I-I didn't mean to sound—”

Victor waves him off. “I take no offense,” he says. “If anything, I'm flattered that you think I'm getting better, Yuuri.”

That earns him a small, tentative smile. “That's, uh—” Really, the way Yuuri blushes is just too adorable, “—That's good to hear.” He fiddles with his bowl a bit, then continues, “I'd like to learn Russian, too, to be honest. From you. If you wouldn't mind.”

“Prekrasni,” Victor replies, smiling back. “I wouldn't mind at all. In fact, I would love to.”

“Prekrasni,” Yuuri repeats. “Victor, what does that mean?”

Victor pretends to think. “Well, there's no exact English word for it,” he begins, dead serious, “but the closest approximation would be: 'You're the sexiest coach ever, Victor! Please marry me!'”

Yuuri, smackdab in the middle of chewing on a mouthful of meat and rice, nearly chokes. “V-Victor...!”

Victor grins. “Or maybe it's 'I won't slam my face into the rink barriers any more, so please be mine!'”

Sounding exasperated, Yuuri narrows his eyes at him. “Victor...”

 _Oh, all right._ “'Beautiful',” Victor supplies at last. “Prekrasni means 'beautiful'. So, in essence,” he goes on, his grin returning, “you just called me beautiful, Yuuri. You unwitting playboy, you!”

“I-I was only repeating what you said,” Yuuri retorts, face beet red. Then he looks away, muttering something in Japanese, too fast for Victor to catch in full.

('Tsukush—'?)

“I meant it in that way, too, you know,” Victor declares sincerely. “I think you're quite beautiful, Yuuri.”

At that, Yuuri looks up. Their gazes meet, and the younger man opens his mouth as if to speak, but says nothing. “I know you do,” Yuuri says in the end.

Victor raises an eyebrow. “And yet you sound like you don't believe me.”

“I-I believe you!” Yuuri asserts.

“And what do I believe?”

Yuuri blushes yet again. “That I'm...”

“Yes?”

“... Beautiful.”

“ _Quite_ beautiful,” Victor appends, regarding him fondly. “Now say it in full, if you please.”

Yuuri shoots him a look. “Victor...”

“Please,” Victor repeats. “The man you're trying to seduce is begging you, Yuuri.”

“That's—!”

“Please.”

“... All right,” Yuuri huffs. He takes a deep breath, then exhales in a rush, “I believe that you believe that I'm quite beautiful.”

Victor smiles. “Excellent. _Prekrasni_.”

Yuuri makes a truly valiant attempt to emulate Yurio's trademark icy glare. Between the red on his cheeks and the subtle upturn of his lips, however, Yuuri fails. Miserably.

“You're very beautiful, Yuuri,” Victor says. He repeats it in Russian, then French, for good measure, and then asks Yuuri for the Japanese translation. _And one day,_ Victor muses, trying (in vain) not to twist his tongue over  'utsukushi sugite' while trying (also in vain) not to giggle along with Yuuri, _I hope I can get you to believe it, too._


	4. Third Bowl: After the Cup of China

They're on top of each other, panting, hair and clothes in disarray, when Victor finally registers the knock on the door. It slides open before either of them could respond, revealing Yuuri's sister, Mari.

“Uh,” Yuuri utters, blinking once, twice, at the same time Victor waves and says, “Hi!”

Mari doesn't even bat an eye. “Don't mind me,” the older Katsuki sibling says, “I'm just here to announce that your food's ready.”

“Right.” Yuuri climbs off of Victor and picks up his glasses from the floor. “We'll be there in five, neechan.”

Mari simply cracks an indulgent smile. “Take your time.”

(Looking at her now, Victor is almost convinced he'd dreamed up what she'd said to him the night they returned, over beer and spicy stir-fried noodles: _“Break my little brother's heart again, Nikiforov, and I will **end** you.”_ The keyword being, _almost_.)

As she leaves, Victor sits up, stretching his limbs. “I think we might have given your sister the wrong idea.”

“Hm?” Yuuri sounds perplexed. “And what idea is that?”

_Seriously?_ Victor lifts his head to regard the other man properly, only to find a finely arched brow and a not-so-innocent twinkle in those warm brown eyes. (And a blush; the many variations of which Victor will never tire of seeing.)

Victor nudges Yuuri's leg. “The one that's making you blush right now, Yuuri.”

“W-well, you're the one who started it,” Yuuri retorts, offering his hand to Victor.

He takes it. As Yuuri helps him up, Victor resolves to try stealing Yuuri's glasses more often.

Among other things.

~o~

They find the common dining hall uncommonly bereft of tenants but for an elderly couple watching the news. Makkachin is sleeping under the table by the entrance; the one that Victor has come—presumptuously, perhaps—to view as theirs.

Mari serves them what she has dubbed the 'Victuri Combo': two orders of Yu-topia's katsudon set, priced at a discount for couples. Hands are clapped. (“Itadakimasu,” both Victor and Yuuri say without blinking.) Chopsticks are snapped and held at the ready. Yuuri suspends a sliver of breaded pork between them, taking his first slow, reverent bite of it—

—And Victor is once again forced to admit to himself that yes, he is an idiot still.

The most pathetic idiot there is, Victor adds, unable to look away from the sublimely sensual spectacle that is Yuuri's tongue—pink and wet—darting out to lick his lips. The idiot to end all idiots.

The idiot whose breath instantly catches in his throat the instant Yuuri's eyes catch his.

“Victor,” Yuuri observes, puzzled, “You haven't touched your food.”

To which Victor responds (all casual and smooth, and _so_ totally not like he's been caught ogling someone eating deep-fried pork) with the ever-suave, “Ah. Yes. So I haven't.”

Yuuri blinks at him. “You're not hungry?”

That makes him smile. _Déjà vu._ “Well,” Victor ventures, recovering a bit, “maybe I was waiting for you to feed me.”

In all honesty, Victor didn't expect Yuuri's mouth to quirk at that, nor would he have believed he'd find the expression so unfairly, endearingly sexy. “Well,” Yuuri echoes him, shy and playful, “you need only ask.”

There's a glint of mischief dancing behind Yuuri's eyes as he says it, new but fast becoming familiar. Victor drinks it in, takes a steadying breath, swallows. _All right, then,_ he thinks. _If that's how you wish to play it._ Gaze unwavering, Victor opens his mouth and says,  “Tabesasete, Yuuri.”

Red tinges Yuuri's cheeks. Victor might as well have said, 'Seduce me.'

“... Okay,” Yuuri says after a pause, voice thick. His fingers fumble with his chopsticks. He picks up another piece of tonkatsu from his bowl and leans forward, holding it out just close enough for Victor to eat.

“Nice,” Victor hedges, tapping a finger to his chin. “But you're supposed to make me say 'ah', I think.”

Yuuri flushes even further. “V-Victor...”

“Yes, Yuuri?”

“Fine,” Yuuri sighs. His smile is soft. Fond. The slice of pork inches ever closer to Victor's lips. “Victor, say—”

“ _Arf!_ ”

Both Victor and Yuuri blink. Slowly.

Trotting from beneath the table to the grandfather clock at the corner, Makkachin lets out another bark, tail wagging happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remaining two vignettes will be done by Valentine's. (Let's hope.) Feedback is appreciated, especially if it's to correct my atrocious romanized Russian & Japanese. Thank you for reading!


	5. Fourth Bowl: After the Rostelecom Cup

“Until I retire,” Yuuri says, imploring, “please stay by my side!”

Once again, Victor is stunned speechless. Such passion. Such fire. With a smile, he lifts Yuuri's hand to his lips; kisses the other man's ring finger. Victor keeps his tone light and mildly teasing as he replies, “It sounds like you're proposing to me.”

It's only a joke, of course, or so Victor tells himself. Something to lighten the mood.

(His heart keeps pounding for some strange reason, however, and he's loath to release Yuuri's hand.)

But then Yuuri's eyes are widening like _he's_ surprised, and then he blinks, and then he's smiling. Yuuri Katsuki is smiling at him, looking at Victor as if to say he wouldn't mind, wouldn't mind at all; in fact, wouldn't it be grand? And Yuuri's hair is mussed and his cheeks are flushed and his brown eyes are shining.

And that's when Victor realizes that no, he wouldn't mind at all, waking up next to this man every morning. That it would be grand indeed, wonderful, splendid, if they could spend the rest of their lives together.

Yuuri hugs him. Victor hugs him back.

_There's no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with. Only you._

When Victor says that it'd be great if Yuuri would never retire, he means it.

~o~

It's a novel thing, feeling like your heart's about to burst from an overabundance of joy. Makkachin is all right, they're back in each other's arms, and Yuuri wants him to remain by his side.

Yuuri wants him.

The very thought puts a spring to Victor's step as they belatedly head over to the baggage claim area. He's walking on clouds as they make their way to the airport's taxi bay to hire a cab to take them to Hasetsu. (While a bit on the pricey side, the seats are comfortable, the floor is carpeted, Makkachin gets a loden wool rug to snuggle in, and they'll be in Hasetsu a lot sooner than if they went by train, so it's all good.) When they text Mari that they're headed home, Yuuri leans on his shoulder. Mari sends them an elaborate cake emoji in return.

It dawns on Victor that in a few more hours, Yuuri will be turning twenty-four. It also dawns on Victor that earlier, after the second time they'd hugged, Yuuri had cried. He couldn't see his face, but Yuuri's voice had trembled as he told him they'd win gold together at the Grand Prix Final.

_What was that about?_

“Why were you crying?” Victor asks. Better late than never.

“Eh?” For a moment, Yuuri sounds confused. Then he tenses up beside him, draws away to sit more properly on his side of the car. “Ah. Well. I was just...” Yuuri drifts off. He takes Victor's hand in his, twining their fingers together. “I missed you,” he says finally.

Victor squeezes his hand. “I missed you, too, Yuuri.”

Yuuri lets out a laugh. “I kind of noticed,” he remarks, voice wry. “Thank God Makkachin's all right.”

“He's one lucky dog,” Victor returns, releasing Yuuri's hand and bending over to give said lucky dog a fond pat on the head. Makkachin's tail thumps the floor in approval. “Incidentally, he must have missed you, too. Wouldn't let me leave the house unless I brought him along to welcome you.”

“Did he now?”

“Oh, yes.” (That, and that Makkachin could sense how anxious and lonely Victor was, separated from Yuuri for the first time in seven months, and so deemed it best to accompany the poor human to the airport.)

“That makes me happy, somewhat,” Yuuri says. He leans forward, fingers brushing Victor's own as he lets Makkachin nuzzle his hand. “I'm glad you're okay, Makkachin.”

Makkachin sniffs and licks Yuuri's palm, puppy dog eyes blinking up at him earnestly.

That seems to remind Yuuri of something. “Oh, that's right,” he exclaims, sitting up straight once again. He opens his backpack and takes out a resealable doggy bag, from within which Yuuri then extracts a brown paper bag containing—

“Pirozhki?” Victor says, peering down at the pastries curiously. Homemade, too, from the looks of it. Victor counts three.

Yuuri tilts his head. “For my birthday. Yurio gave them to me.”

Victor blinks. “Yurio did?”

Yuuri beams at Victor as if to say, _I know, right?_ “Made me eat one on the spot, even,” he fills in. “When he told me his grandfather made them, he had this huge, starry-eyed grin on his face. You should've seen him, Victor.”

“You should have snapped a picture.” What better blackmail material than photographic proof that, underneath all that brashness, young Yurio really is just a big softie at heart?

“I should have,” Yuuri agrees. “One of these days I'd have to ask Phichit for tips.”

Victor chuckles. “Sign me on as well. We could all learn from the master.”

“You're already almost as good as he is.”

“You think so?”

Yuuri clears his throat. “A-anyway,” he lifts the bag of pirozhki and offers it to Victor, “I, ah... I saved these for you. You could eat them later if you want, warm them up a bit, or— Eh? Victor!”

“What?” Victor inquires, proceeding to cheerfully bite into the pirozhki he'd picked up. While no longer hot off the oven, the crust still had a nice texture, and the filling—

_Hm...?_

Brows furrowed slightly, Victor takes another look at the pirozhki. But no, he was not mistaken; there's rice in there, and pork and egg. Green peas, too.

“Yuuri,” Victor utters, eyes wide, “this is katsudon, isn't it?”

Yuuri nods. “It's katsudon pirozhki,” he confirms with a smile. “I reacted pretty much the same way you did, actually, when I first ate it.”

“It's good,” Victor exclaims. Not _quite_ the food of the gods that is Yu-topia's pork cutlet bowl, but tasty in its own right. “Do you think we could contact Yurio's grandpa for the recipe?”

“Well, we could try,” Yuuri replies. “Let's hope Yurio's still feeling generous.”

Victor hums in agreement. “Let's hope.”

Hope is a good thing.

He's taken a few more bites of the katsudon-filled pirozhki when Yuuri suddenly speaks his name.

“Victor...”

“Yes?”

Silence. Or rather, not total silence; Victor hears Yuuri take in a breath, then release it. Then he feels the tips of Yuuri's fingers graze the corner of his mouth, taking something away.

“Rice,” Yuuri says at last, gentle and apologetic. “It was sticking to your chin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! The next (and final) set of updates will be on Valentine's. :D


	6. Interlude (GPF Barcelona)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 12 drama ahead!  
> Skip to Chapter 7 if you wish to avoid the feels. (Why did I write this? Why???)

“By the way, Yuuri,” Victor asks, towelling off in a bathrobe with Barcelona's evening skyline at his back, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

Yuuri's hands fall to his lap; the left one empty, the other—the one with the matching gold band around Victor's own finger—still holding his phone. “Right,” Yuuri hedges. His smile is tight, but his fists clench even tighter. He sighs.

And then Yuuri speaks.

And then Victor's world crumbles.

Yuuri Katsuki is selfish. Yuuri Katsuki is selfless. Yuuri Katsuki is a thoughtless, thoughtful idiot who thinks too little and thinks too much.

A contrary collection of contradictions, is Japan's Yuuri Katsuki.

Victor doesn't realize he's crying until Yuuri voices his surprise—

_Oh, so **you're** surprised? Well, I'm surprised, too. And angry, and hurt and God damn it Yuuri—_

—and in the end, they both decide not to decide anything. Not until after the free skate.

(But Yuuri seems to have already made up his mind.)

(And Victor's heart keeps breaking.)

And so, for the remainder of what may very well be the last competition of his student's skating career, Victor takes it upon himself to be the coach that Yuuri Katsuki deserves. Coach Nikiforov is proper, polite, professional; perfectly composed, perfectly capable. He remains close at hand but not _too_ close; he respects his student's personal space, keeps his hands entirely to himself. (Victor does, however, feel a certain poignant pang at the sight of Yuuri lacing up his own skates for his free skate program.)

The consummate coach's coach, is Victor Nikiforov of Russia. Yakov would be proud.

And now Phichit Chulanont's free skate has ended, and now it's finally Yuuri's turn. Victor and Yuuri approach the ice like battle-worn soldiers.

“It'll be all right; you can win gold, Yuuri,” Victor tells his student at rinkside. Yuuri's head is bowed, both hands braced atop the waist-high barrier that separated them, but all the same he makes sure to give Yuuri a reassuring smile. Just in case Yuuri decides to look up.

(Just in case Yuuri decides to finally look at him.)

Yuuri does not, however; just keeps his head down and doesn't even budge. It doesn't bother Victor—patient, considerate Coach Nikiforov— in the slightest. He reaches for Yuuri's hand, gives it a gentle squeeze, the gold on his ring finger gleaming mockingly between them. “Believe in yourself,” Victor finishes.

_Because I believe in you._

Trite and true. Predictable. In keeping with what a proper coach would say.

Yuuri's hand twitches beneath his own. “Hey, Victor,” Yuuri says, head still bowed, speaking as if they haven't spent the past several hours not really talking to each other, “I've told you before, remember? That I want you to just be you?”

Victor remembers. Months ago, all the way back in Hasetsu, the two of them gazing at the sea and sky. That was when Yuuri had opened his heart to him for the first time. _What do you want me to be to you?_ Victor had asked him then, and Yuuri had ultimately, earnestly replied—

_Be yourself._

(Ah.)

“Don't suddenly start trying to sound like a coach now,” present-day Yuuri chides, taking Victor's hand in his and holding on tight. “I want to smile for my last time on the ice.”

Victor is stunned.

_Yuuri._

Overhead, Phichit Chulanont's overall score is announced. The crowd goes wild; cheers and applause abound.

Through the thundering of his heart, Victor fails to hear much of it.

_Be myself, you say?_

_Very well._

Victor leans forward—close enough to kiss, if stupid Yuuri would just look up—and does just that. “Yuuri,” he begins, “listen well.”

Yuuri does. Meets Victor's gaze at last, even, brown eyes naked and raw and full of longing, and so of course Victor has to wrap his arms around him and never want to let go.

(And when he does, he does so reluctantly.)

Victor Nikiforov is selfish. Victor Nikiforov is self-absorbed. Victor Nikiforov is petty and childish and blunt, and only wants Yuuri to win because then he gets to kiss a gold medal.

(Victor Nikiforov is also an accomplished liar, but no one else needs to know.)

Yuuri sees right through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this was supposed to be the beginning section of the final chapter, but it grew into its own short fic/character study thing that has nothing to do with katsudon. It was a bittersweet, fun, frustrating exercise trying to get into Victor's head during the last episode... and it made me love the characters all the more. I love love love this anime.


	7. Fifth Bowl: After the Grand Prix Final

Their return to Japan is met with even more reporters and an endless barrage of well wishes and congratulations. Yuuri might as well have won gold. (That said, Yuuri had almost won gold, missing the central podium by a fraction of a point. That Victor is happier with Yuuri 'only' taking silver may make him the worst coach there is, but he regrets nothing.)

(Well, except having to postpone the wedding. But still—)

In Victor's heart, Yuuri _has_ won gold; ten, even a hundred times over.

In Victor's heart, with Yuuri by his side, he himself has won a lot more.

_Life and love._

So seemingly simple, these two things, but infinitely more precious than all the medals in the world; infinitely more meaningful.

 _Infinitely more kissable, too,_ Victor adds, leaning down to plant a quick, affectionate peck on Yuuri's nose. They're at the front gate of Yu-topia with the sun about to set, flakes of snow falling few and feather-light around them. Limned in late afternoon light, his fiancé is just too beautiful not to kiss.

Said fiancé fixes him that fond, exasperated look that more or less conveys, _Victor_. Aloud, Yuuri says, “Your lips are cold,” nose scrunching up slightly.

“So's your nose,” Victor points out with an unapologetic smile.

“They're both cold,” Yuuri decides, tilting his head up and tugging at Victor's scarf. Victor has all of three seconds to appreciate sooty eyelash flutter before Yuuri closes the gap between their faces once again, kissing Victor full on the lips.

Yuuri's lips are cold as well, as it turns out, and maybe just a little bit chapped. But his mouth is warm, so very warm, and soft and sweet and intoxicating. Victor melts into the kiss.

“Better?” Yuuri breathes afterward, eyes radiant and cheeks aglow.

“Much better,” Victor agrees. His thumb trails lazily across Yuuri's lips, now ruddy and swollen and all too tempting.

Someone coughs before Victor could give in.

“You know,” Mari drawls, stepping out from the inn's half-open entrance hall, “there are warmer places for you two to make out in.”

Hiroko follows behind her daughter, all waves and welcoming smiles. “Okaeri.”

Both Victor and Yuuri smile back. “Tadaima.”

~o~

“Here you go, Vicchan, Yuuri,” Hiroko Katsuki says, setting the trays laden with her son's favorite meal on their respective sides of the table. “Enjoy.”

At their thanks, she gives them a beaming smile, right before heading off to attend to the inn's other guests.

And then it's just the two of them in the room, with two deluxe servings of Yu-topia's house special, the extra-large katsudon set, between them. Steam wafts from the food on their trays, bringing the enticing scent of breaded pork, onions, and freshly cooked rice to Victor's nostrils. He savors it, savors the moment; savors the way the light glints off the matching rings on their fingers when they clap their hands.

“Itadakimasu,” Yuuri says.

Victor gamely follows suit. “Itadakimasu.” His pronunciation is flawless, as if he's spoken it all his life, and Yuuri smiles at him proudly, lovingly, from across the table, brown eyes bright, a faint blush staining the younger man's cheeks. Victor's heart does that fluttery thing again in his chest. (Honestly, you'd think he'd be used to it by now, but Yuuri's smile still gets him every time.) It does so yet again when Yuuri cradles his chopsticks with his right hand, the gleam from Yuuri's ring catching Victor's eye.

Yuuri lifts a piece of breaded pork from his bowl. Instead of biting into it, however, he bites his bottom lip, gaze studiously avoiding Victor's. “I-I've been wanting to, um,” Yuuri suddenly stammers out, face getting redder by the second, “That is... Ever since we got back, I've been thinking...”

Victor blinks at him. “Yes, Yuuri?”

“Victor—” Yuuri still looks beyond embarrassed, but meets his eyes head on, “—Victor, if it's all right with you... and only if it's all right...”

“Yes?” Victor prompts patiently. _Why so shy now?_

Yuuri takes a deep breath. Poised between his chopsticks, the piece of cutlet trembles along with his hand. Then, in a rush, spoken just above a whisper: “I'd like for us to feed each other.”

A beat.

“Just the first bite.”

Another beat.

“Please.”

(Forget fluttering; Victor's heart does a full-on quadruple flip.)

And then, likely misreading Victor's stunned silence for hesitation: “O-of course, if you don't want to, that's—”

“Yuuri.” Victor holds up a hand. “I want to,” he utters at last, as clear as he can. “I'd love to.”

_I love you._

(And really, as if Yuuri even needed to ask.)

[ ](http://imgur.com/L1FfEl4)

#katsudon #victuuri #VictorNikiforov #YuuriKatsuki

~Love Wins~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And done. The larger fanart can be found at:  
>  http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=61391343
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. If you liked this, feel free to share/link to it (am not really active online, sorry).
> 
> *now off to pine for the YOI marathon screening in Japan I can't attend* T-T


	8. Extra: After the Four Continents Championships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little extra something as thanks. (LOL Yurio is simply too precious.)

**_St. Petersburg, Late February_ **

They're on top of each other, panting, hair and clothes in disarray, when—

“ _Blyat!_ ” yells Yuri Plisetsky, forearms raised to cover his eyes. “I did _not_ need to see that!”

“Language,” Victor cheerfully chides, at the same time Yuuri sheepishly smiles and says, “Hello?”

The teenager scowls at them both. “You two are gross.”

“Oh, we are,” Victor agrees, tongue in cheek, extricating himself from his fiancé to stand on the rink. “Absolutely.” With a gallant bow, he offers his hand to Yuuri.

Yuuri takes it. Kisses the back of said hand, even, once Victor's gotten him back on his feet, unmindful of the gagging noises his namesake makes as he does so. “I thought you're off the ice today, Yurio.”

“I am,” Yurio answers, tone curt. “Doesn't mean I'm not allowed in here.” Russia's self-proclaimed Ice Tiger doesn't elaborate beyond that; just hunches his shoulders and tightens his grip on—

A brown paperbag?

_I see._

“Hey, Yurio,” Victor calls out, oh-so-innocently, “what's in the bag?”

Yurio tenses up even more, green eyes flashing. If looks could kill, the youth could have made quite a career out of being an assassin. “Get off the ice,” Yurio huffs after a pause, “and I'll show you. Maybe.”

Yuuri's eyebrows shoot up. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Yurio cuts in through gritted teeth. “Now hurry up and take it. My arm's getting sore.”

Yuuri beams. “That's so—”

“—Sweet!” Victor finishes, grinning.

“That's it; I'm leaving.” Yurio hefts his bag of katsudon pirozhki and turns around. “Dasvi-fucking-daniya, you jerks.”

Said jerks swiftly trade looks.

And to Yuuri's plea of “Aww, Yurio, don't go!” and Victor's “Aww, Yurio, don't be that way!” they skate like superbly synchronized, embarrassingly doting parents towards the blond-haired teen.

Yurio runs for his life.

~o~

Or tries to, anyhow; but either little Yuratchka actually wanted to be caught (like he'll ever admit it) or was taking extra care not to risk any injury (what with Worlds little more than a month away), for they manage to catch up to him just fine. Victor suspects a mixture of both, but keeps it to himself— _for now_. He values his own skin, after all.

Of course, he values Yuuri's skin even more; which is why Victor makes sure to keep his fiancé's mouth fully occupied when he senses Yuuri about to point out the same thing. Not with his own mouth, regrettably, but with pirozhki.

Not to be outdone, Yuuri offers him one, too. Victor bites into the pastry with gustatory relish, bread and rice and egg and pork creating a delectable symphony in his mouth. _Vkusno._

From his self-imposed seat behind another cafeteria table, Yurio makes a face. “Ugh, now you're even feeding each other.”

A faint flush creeps into Yuuri's cheeks. “Well,” he says, once he's chewed and swallowed, “it's become a little tradition of ours? Kind of.”

Victor nods. “If you like, we'd gladly feed you, too.”

“Do that and die.” As if to hammer home his point, Yurio takes a particularly vicious bite out of his own katsudon pirozhki, going on to chew with great justice. Bread crumbs, rice, and bits of egg pepper the area around his mouth in the process.

“In any case, we really appreciate it,” Yuuri tells the teen. “I'd say this batch tastes even better than the last.”

Yurio gives a dismissive shrug.  “That's 'cause it's freshly baked,” he explains, matter of fact. He snorts. “Anyway, don't think this'll be a regular thing, okay? Me and Beka are gonna beat both of your asses at Worlds.”

Victor hums. “'Beka', eh?”

Yuuri casts a misty-eyed smile into the cafeteria ceiling. “Our Yurio's growing up so fast.” Suddenly he blinks. “Oh, that's right!” Yuuri excitedly exclaims, turning to address Yurio once again. “Your birthday's on the first, isn't it?”

Now it's Victor's turn to blink. _It is?_ “Ah, yes,” he laughs, as if it hadn't slipped his mind, “you'll be sixteen come March 1st, won't you, Yurio?”

The look both Yuris give him reads, _Vitya, you totally forgot, and we know it._

“Yeah,” is what Yurio says aloud, at any rate, taking obvious care to appear not to care. “So what?”

“Er, nothing,” Yuuri replies, cradling his half-eaten pirozhki. “We're not planning anything.”

Yurio's eyes narrow in suspicion. “I didn't ask if you were.”

“So you didn't.” Victor points his index finger up. “Well, now you know.” And then, because Yuuri elbows him none too discreetly, Victor adds, “That we aren't. Planning a surprise party or anything.”

“Right,” Yuuri interposes, voice rising. “We're totally not all in on it, or—” his throat bobs, “—or anything! Not Mila or Georgi or—!” Yuuri blinks again. “Oh, crap.”

Deafening, deathly silence.

“... What?”

~o~

Much later, after parting ways with a Yurio whose parting words were, in no uncertain terms, a big _“Don't you dare!”_ as far as birthday parties, surprise or otherwise, were concerned, they stroll together along the snowy promenade that led to Makkachin and their apartment.

Yuuri's palm sweeps across his own face. “The others are going to have my hide for this, aren't they?”

“They're going to have both of our hides, I think,” Victor says, in an effort to be comforting. He doubts it works, although Yuuri leans back against his chest, prompting Victor to wrap his arms around him.

“They won't have yours,” Yuuri argues. “Not until after the season's ended, anyway.”

“I won't let them have yours, either,” Victor argues back. “You still owe me quite a few gold medals, remember?”

“That's all I'm good for, isn't it?” Yuuri archly intones, turning around to embrace him in turn. “Gold medals for you to kiss.”

“You've given me several other things to kiss,” Victor rejoins. “I've come to like them better than any medals, to be honest.”

Yuuri pulls back, his beautiful brown eyes searching Victor's. The biting wind ruffles his raven-black hair and tints his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. “Have you now?” Yuuri asks. His mouth quirks ever so slightly, in a way he knows—and knows that Victor knows he knows—drives Victor crazy. “Victor.”

“Hmm.” Victor cups the side of Yuuri's face. “I suppose I'm not too sure. Let me see.”

Yuuri leans in, and tilts his head upward. Victor meets him halfway.

~See You Next Level~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will really be the last entry for this fic, promise. Share as you like, and thanks again!<3<3<3


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